


The darkness that lurks

by Aileen1889



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Cults, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Amnesia, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Courage, Cults, Demons, Descent into Madness, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Grim Reapers, Hate to Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Investigations, Loss of Identity, Loss of Virginity, Murder, Mystery, Other, Paranormal, Parent-Child Relationship, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Self-Acceptance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:33:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aileen1889/pseuds/Aileen1889
Summary: Manor of Trinity, in 1889.An orphanage, lost in the Pyrenees, between France and Spain.The children and the adults disappeared. Even their souls.A patrol of shinigamis went to investigate.  They vanished too.Alma Roman is a grim reaper who protects the souls of deceased children.  With no memories left of her human’s life, her soul remains mysteriously inside of her, which causes mistrust of most of the Grim Reapers.Determined to find, and save the children’s souls, Alma embarks on an investigation whose discoveries would shake her violently, questioning her own identity…At the same time, the Watchdog of her Majesty, Queen Victoria of England, and his demonic butler are also investigating the disappearance of nobles and children mixed with mysterious occult cults...What if the two investigations are linked?
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Lethal Whisperings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!:)
> 
> I am happy to share with you my first fanfic. Since it is my first attempt to write, I still lack experience in this field ... Do not hesitate to send me constructive criticism or advice because I would like to progress.
> 
> Also, English language is not my first language and although I try to be careful, there may be ( and there probably will be) some mistakes, so I want to apologize in advance...
> 
> As for the story, it is settled in the Black Butler’s world. Even if it focuses on some characters I invented, the main characters from Yana Toboso’s creation will appear and I do not own any of the characters…). 
> 
> The story I am writing contains psychological horror, violence, angst and child’s abuse -even if it is not clearly explicit -do not read it, if you are not feeling comfortable with these themes. 
> 
> I would like to thank all the people who advised and encouraged me to post this story, especially Lonely_Stargazer , I would not have had the courage to post it if it wasn't for you.❤  
> I strongly encourage you to read her amazing story, Wicked Game. 
> 
> Finally, I would like to thank all the people on tumblr who encouraged me, you are wonderful and amazing beings :)
> 
> I hope you will enjoy the story.

****

**The manor**

Image made by [Tama66](https://pixabay.com/fr/photos/nuit-forest-parc-nature-sombre-3896104/)

Music inspiration for this chapter: [The darkness that lurks in our minds - Silent Hill 2 ( Akira Yamaoka)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xlIy0FEF8qo)

Timothy was afraid of the dark.

He was trapped in total darkness when his family was killed.

To protect him, his mother locked him in a closet.

He saw nothing. 

But he heard _everything_.

The villagers had been worried when they did not see the family coming down from their house. They lived far away, at the edge of the forest, but they always wanted to go to the village when the opportunity arose. But that was not the case this time.

Rumors had said a group of mercenaries were rioting in the surrounding area. A group of people went to their home, hoping they were safe.

The Besson were good people. Good people should not die this way, in such atrocious ways.

 _Men are beasts_. had said someone, still traumatized by what he had seen.

They found little Timothy holed up in the back of the closet, plunged into total dimness.

The hospice took care of him, and it took him months to regain the use of speech.

And he was sent to the Trinity Orphanage.

Previously, it was a huge mansion that belonged to an illustrious family of French nobles. Following the Napoleonic revolutions, it became an orphanage. Although isolated, the children were happy, thanks to the generosity and dedication of all the adults who worked there. Yes, Timothy had found a refuge, something there that he thought he had lost, since that fateful night. But the fear of the dark persisted, stuck to his skin, to his being, causing him terrible nightmares.

He hated so much being awakened during the night, while all his comrades were asleep. He felt so alone. So vulnerable. He could still hear the piercing shrieks of her beloved mother, his father begging and crying, the laughs of men who were not men anymore, but monsters. What have they done to them?

 _What have they done to you, mummy?_ The boy whimpered, trying to use the blanket as a protection, against any threat that could harm him, although he knew a cover could not protect him.

Then he remembered the kind words of his teacher, Father Joseph:

_"When you are very scared Timothy, you have to focus on your breathing. Take the time to inhale very deeply, then slowly exhale. Do this several times. »_

_"I... I will try sir"_ he had whispered timidly.

_“And don’t forget my child. I beg you, do not forget what I am going to say to you: you are not alone. We are here for you. And we will protect and love you. This is your home.”_

As if by magic, his inconsistent breathing seemed to subside as he recalled that moment with his tutor. So as if to honor him, Timothy inspired. Then exhaled. Inspired. Then…exhaled, the air from his lungs to expel his fear, eyes closed.

 _Yes. Everything would be alright._ He said to himself as he slowly rolled on the side, wrapped under the blankets.

 _Everything will be alright._ Whispered his mind again.

He did not notice what was near him as the gentle, heavy torpor of slumber invaded his mind, his body.

He could not see what him was above, watching him attentively…

A choked scream came out of his throat. Timothy got up abruptly, face white, head whirling around, frantically.

He sensed it.

Something had been watching him while he was trying to sleep. His eyes anxiously searched for a sign, a trace of this presence around.

No. There was nothing. Just darkness around him. Just the sound of his breathing and that of his comrades. Their sleeping forms could hardly be discerned.

 _I imagined it_ , he thought.

Or did he? Did he really imagine it? Why his body was reacting the same way as the night his parents were killed? Why his heart is beating so fast? 

_There is something,_ whispered a voice inside his head. _There is something hidden in the shadows._

So, he tried again. Trembling, the child stood up on his bed. Despite the intense fear, Timothy tried again to perceive the _potential_ danger that was lurking at him. The sounds of slight breathing could be heard. His comrades' and his. Only.

Nothing. He could not see, distinguish, anything.

 _Crazy_ , he thought as he slowly got down to bed. _I am going crazy. I am only imagining things._

So, he tried again. To breath slowly. To focus on his breathing.

 _It is all in my head. Only in my head. Tomorrow, I would get up. I would take breakfast with sister Anna. With Pierre and the others. Then I will have classes with Miss Rose. We will study history, geography._ _And then we will go, on the edge of the forest, collect leaves for our science class..._

He felt it. A cold breath on his visage. A barely perceptible murmur.

His eyes opened. And widened.

Two eyes were staring at him. 

_Inhumane eyes._

* * *

Father Joseph could not sleep. He tried hard to find a comfortable position in his bed. In vain. His nerves still raw as guilt gnawed at him from within, irretrievably.

Timothy had disappeared. Vanished. The nun in charge of caring the children before classes found her bed, undone. 

They searched for him everywhere. All over the mansion. The anguish began to pierce.

He was nowhere. The teachers were panicked although they tried to keep their composure.

_Timothy couldn’t have run away!_

_Not in the forest!_

_Not after what he'd been through!_

They had to call on the villagers and the police to find the boy. After several days, the unbearable, cruel truth was there: Timothy was missing. But what had happened to him? Had he escaped? Dis someone took him away?

 _But who for God’ sake? Who would do that? One of the men who had massacred his family, perhaps…_ Father Joseph had the impression that a compact and devious knot was twisting his guts as a series of unanswered questions kept going through his head.

Exhaustion eventually took over and he fell asleep. In his dreams, he saw Timothy surrounded by shadows that whispered incantations, in a hermetic language he could not understand...

_Father Joseph…_

« Father Joseph! »

His eyes opened abruptly, and he straightened himself. At his side, stood Sister Anne, her eyes in tears, her chin trembling.

He feared the worst. _His body. They found his body,_ he thought.

No, Sister Anne was smiling. She could not talk. But there was no need to. Immediately, he ran towards the dormitory. The man tried to keep the children clumping around the bed. He had to make sure with his own eyes. And what he saw through fills him with happiness and disbelief. 

There was Timothy. Standing on his bed. Paternal instinct was stronger than the rule of propriety. Father Joseph took the child's head in his hands, scrutinizing the slightest scar that would have been inflicted on him. No. Nothing at all. Just an expressionless face. But he was there. Alive and well. And he hugged him and the children around him did the same.

* * *

Miss. Rose was aptly named. A flower with delicate petals whose thorns protected its delicacy. A firm handle held the chalk as she wrote the date on the black blackboard. Her voice, on the other hand, was soft and delicate as she talked the children. And especially with Timothy.

He had been missing for days. And one morning, he was found in his bed, as nothing happened.

The child said he did not remember anything. Worried, Father Joseph had called on an alienist to understand this silence, this mysterious amnesia. In vain.

Then the adults of the orphanage decided that it was well worth it for the child to return to a normal life with his comrades.

So, she tried to act as normal as she could with the boy, questioning him about the date.

“Timothy?”

Sitting by the window, he stared outside.

"Timothy?" Insisted the teacher, this time in a firmer tone. The child slowly turned his head. Very slowly.

"Yes, Mrs. Rose?" whispered the boy.

“Could… Could you tell me what day it is today?”

The class was silent as they were waiting for his answer. Only the sound of autumnal wind could be overheard outside as well as the ticktack of the clock.

“It’s… written behind you, Miss Rose.” The answer was simple, evident. Yet Miss Rose did not like it. She did not like how the child said it. A mere, sheer whispering, his eyes piercing hers, with an intensity that was unusual. The Timothy she knew was a shy boy. He would have nervously avoided her gaze while answering her question.

“Y…Yes, indeed Timothy. Very well” She said as she tried to regain her composure. He was sitting with his back straight, his hands on the desk. Even his pupils did not move. Still staring at her.

Miss Rose gulped and turned back to the blackboard. Her hand once firm while writing was slightly shaking. _Something was not right with Timothy._

As she was writing the title of the next lesson, the teacher could see a small, distorted reflection, in the corner of her eye.

Her heartbeat increased suddenly.

Her head swirled abruptly, her back against the blackboard, the chalk at her feet.

“Miss Rose?” Asked a child in a concerned voice.

But she could not hear him, her gaze focused on the boy. 

_His eyes._ Screaming an inward voice inside of her head _. His eyes. They were changing._

It made no sense. It was her imagination, a trick from the distorted reflection.

"It's nothing Louis. "she whispered, "Let us resume the lesson”, as she raised her voice in an authoritarian manner.

But that dread did not leave her.

Even when she turned around, she could still feel his gaze.

Later, that night, as she was standing in her bed, Miss Rose was still thinking of what happened this morning, in the classroom. The teacher was trying to rationalize what she thought she perceived, or what her brain thought she detected as abnormal. Had she dreamed? Had she seen Timothy's face morph into something... else?

_Impossible_ , she reasoned. _It is just impossible. You are tired. You are exhausted, that's all._

She turned to the candlestick and blew on the flames, plunging her room into total darkness...

Mrs. Rose had a horrible headache, because of the terrible nightmare she had. She could not sleep peacefully for the rest of the night and did not have the strength to eat this morning. So, she went straight into her classroom, to find some silence.

She heard something. Something almost inaudible at first.

Like… susurrations…Hushed whisperings.

She observed the class. Nothing. Just empty chairs. On the desks, the inkwells were already installed. All the children, all the adults were in the left wing of the mansion, having their breakfast. 

But her heart was pounding.

She heard something. Sounds of cracking woods. Like footsteps on the old wooden floor.

She started to look everywhere, again. Under the desks. Behind the door.

 _This is insane_ , she thought. _I am imagining things. Just like yesterday._

Then why was her heart racing so fast?

Images of her nightmare came back.

_Lying on the bed, paralyzed, she watched **them**. _

**_They_ ** _were coming down from the ceiling. To **her**. _ _Slowly._ _Slowly._ _Slowly_ _…_

Trembling, she returned to the office, laid her hands there, and took a big breath.

_It’s on my head. Only on my head. I am exhausted. I am only tired of being secluded in this manor. That’s all…_

“Miss Rose?”

She jumped, a sharp cry rising from her throat.

It was Timothy. Standing at the door. “I am sorry. Apologized the child. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s… It is okay Timothy. She said, as she tried to regain her composure.

“Are you sure?” He whispered, softly.

“Yes, yes, I am okay…”

“Are you sure… it is only on your head… _Miss Rose_?”

The last words were almost a whisper. And not a pleasant one. It was…sinister.

Adrenaline was now fluing freely on her blood as she stepped back, the desk blocking her.

_This boy… This boy is not Timothy. It is something else. Something evil._

“You are mistaken miss Rose. I am still Timothy.”

“Wha…What are you talking about?”.

Then the child stopped in front of her. His eyes went up… to the ceiling.

She realized it.

It was not the sound of footsteps on the wooden floor.

It was the sound of deformed, sharp nails scratching on the ceiling…

* * *

It did not matter if you were an adult, or if you learnt to rationalize. 

The ancestral, visceral, and instinctive fear of the dark remained.

Father Joseph was now convinced of it, as he tried desperately to hide in the closet.

On the other side of the door, an oppressive silence. A deathly silence. It all started with Timothy... Then Madame Rose disappeared. Then other children. And then… _It started._

_How? How could this happen? Was the orphanage a portal to Hell?_

_‘No, father’_ Whispered a voice in his head. 

It was coming from outside.

Right behind the closed door.

_‘We are not demons.’_

The pommel of the door creaked slowly.

_‘We eat them’._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a scene from this chapter that is inspired from the short horror story named “Suffer the little Children”, written by Stephen King, in 1972. I couldn't help but be inspired by it, since it is one of my favourite short horror stories!


	2. Lullaby’s death.

Music inspiration: [Pan's Labyrinth- Lullaby ( Javier Navarrate)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=19bBGxf5k6k)

I am dying.

I know it.

I feel it.

I am not hungry anymore.

I am not thirsty anymore.

I can no longer speak.

My breathing weakens.

The unbearable pain that ran through my bowels seems to be subsiding. The trees with black, tapered branches whose shapes I could see so well seem to be fading. 

I can no longer hear the wind.

I cannot feel the earth moist under my fingers.

I cannot feel _her_ anymore. I tried to touch her hand, soothing her damaged fingers.

I am tired. So tired.

Yet, images, sounds, memories flash through my brain. Frantically.

I still can hear her words. Sweet. Maternal. terrifying.

_Beware, my child._

_Beware of the darkness that lurks..._

**_Inside of you._ **

Her eyes opened abruptly. Tense and stiff, breathing sharply, her trembling hands unconsciously touched her chest, protected by the thick black coat she wore. Gradually removing the buttons, she touched the fine fabric of her black knit. She felt them. Her talismans.

_The only testimonies she had of her human life._

Slowly she got up, walked to the entrance of the cave.

The song of the nocturnal birds could be perceived as well as the gentle lapping of the rain, on the leaves of the trees, on the damp ground.

Despite the nocturnal darkness, she could easily discern the black trees, smell the wet earth, perceive the gentle sound of dripping water drops. 

She dreamed again.

Yet, she was not supposed to have any.

_A grim reaper cannot dream._

What was this dream? Those words she heard. Those gentle and yet wary words that still echoed in her head…

Frustrated, she tried desperately to understand their meaning. In vain. The more she tried to, the more the visions faded, words and visions vanishing, inexorably…

 _No._ She said to herself. _It is not the moment_. 

She had a mission. An important one.

That is why she was in this cave, waiting for the right moment.

And this instant was about to come…

* * *

The little girl walked through the trees, her breathing erratic. She could sense the metallic taste of adrenaline in her tongue. Adrenaline was keeping her alive, alert despite the broken elbow, the dripping blood coming from her skull.

She was going to die. She knew it.Her reptilian brain knew it making her realize how much her life was in deep danger.

Earlier, she had tried to escape the violence of her supposed-to-be father, escaping through the woods. She had not seen the cliff. Her body had fallen through the ramp, peeling off the trunks and brambles to crash into the ferns. Miraculously, she was not dead. But her elbow was dislocated, her head injured.

Crying, she had remained on the wet earth, hoping that the agonizing pain would subside. Then survival instinct finally took over and the little girl struggled to get up, walking aimlessly and entered the immense forest. It was impossible for her to know exactly how long she had wandered in the woods. Was it an hour? Several hours? The sun had been gone for a long time now, the night was silent and dark. Her head was hurting as nausea assaulted her. Excruciating. She fell at the foot of a tree and began to sob.

There was a rustle on the ground.

Steps on dead branches and wet leaves.

Frightened, the little girl turned around, frantically trying to see what was coming, despite the darkness… There it was. A black figure approaching her. Was it a beast? Her father?

_“Amaia”._

Time seemed to stop. A gentle murmur through the branches.

_“Amaia”._

She did hear well her name. It came from the figure that was coming towards her.

_“Amaia. Do not be afraid”._

A woman’s voice.

_“Everything is going to be okay now”._

It was the voice of the protective mothers who appease their frightened children. The one who sang lullabies. The one that soothes your pain. 

The moon’s light exposed her.

A woman. Wearing atypical, masculine’s clothing. All in black. Even in the dark, her eyes seemed to glow strangely, one with blue highlights. And the other with shades of jade.

As soon as the little girl stared into her minnow eyes, her frenetic breathing seemed to calm down, the metallic taste of adrenaline slowly vanishing from her mouth… But the pain in her skull and elbow were just unbearable.

_“_ Ple… Please. She sobbed. “I am hurt” _._

Immediately, the mysterious woman set to her height, hugging her tenderly.

_“_ Hush. It is all right now. I am with you now”.

Instinctively seeking comfort and protection, the child snuggles up in her arms, burying her head deeply in the woman’s chest, seeking warmth. Soon, her sobs subsided while a hand gently stroked her hair.

The fear was gone.

Amaia felt the pain gradually fading. A gentle torpor took hold of her being, as if she were going to fall asleep... The young woman lifted her up, taking her in her arms.

At the foot of the trunk, she lay down, waiting patiently for the child to fall asleep...

“M…Miss?” Asked her childish, shy voice.

“Yes?” She answered, softly.

“What is your name?”

“My name is Alma, Amaia. Alma Roman.”

The little girl remained silent for a moment, after hearing the name of her savior, burying her head again against her chest. She was not thirsty anymore. She was not hungry neither. 

“A… Alma”, as she tried to speak, but the words seemed to fade away, slowly. “A…Am I going to die?”

“You are going to sleep. And no one is going to hurt you anymore, Amaia. I promise you.”

Happy, the child gently closed her eyes while the young woman stroked her wounded skull…

“It is warm. So warm...”

Amaia did not see the woman’s smile fading. Her face became grave as life was gradually leaving away the child's body.

The little girl believed she had fallen asleep in the arms of an Angel. In fact, Death was gradually absorbing her soul. And she was humming a sweet lullaby to comfort her …

* * *

As dawn spread, Alma watched the grave she had dug for the child who had died in her arms.

“Amaia. Died at eight years old. Cause of the death. Severe internal bleeding”.

A neutral, masculine voice spoke. Alma did not turn back, knowing it was her teammate. Leon stood behind her, watching her, as she looked one last time to the grave.

“Did you take her soul?” He asked.

“Yes”, she replied quietly.

It was there. She could sense it. Warm, pure, untainted. Amaia’s soul safely remaining inside of her. She would fiercely protect it, at any cost.

Leon stared questionably at her teammate. He could not understand her disapproval of using death scythes. Absorbing souls was an archaic method used millennia’s ago. Besides, he secretly despised another species who also used this method. Although absorbing was not the proper word. _Devouring_ would be the correct one.

As they were returning to their world, Leon finally asked her why she buried her body.

“Her father. I did not want his father to find her body”.

Although his humanity deteriorated over time, the Shinigami sympathized with the words of her comrade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a fanart of my OC, so you could see how I envisionned her...


	3. Introspection

Sombre nuit

Image made by [StockSnap](https://pixabay.com/fr/photos/sombre-nuit-l-architecture-b%C3%A2timent-2587770/)

The Shinigami’s district seemed to come from a parallel universe to the world of humans. Huge steel buildings overlooked the valley, dominating the very few surrounding villages, without any human beings noticing, for invisible to the sight of man. Humans were unaware of their existence, of this high modern world that was yet so close to them.

A high-importance council was held in the administrative department.

"Mr. Eden, your apprentice, Alma Roman, almost overturned the mission," observed coldly a judge.

The shinigami remained calm. A council of this kind would not destabilize him, he was one of the oldest and most experienced agents in the district.

"I remind you of the facts, Mr. Eden. During this mission, Leon Vidal and Alma Roman, your two apprentices, had to collect children's souls. During a mission, Alma broke a fundamental rule: not to interfere in human affairs. »

"Yes, your honor, indeed, answered the old shinigami serenely. She had to take the soul of a child named Amaïa". 

" Mr. Eden. If Leon Vidal had not intervened, she would not have hesitated to do kill the human. You know what the consequences would be for her...

"Your honor," replied Eden politely but firmly. The man in question was abusing his own child. She wanted to saver her. »

"Intervening in such situations is not within our purview," replied another judge coldly. We're Grim Reapers. »

"And we used to be human, your honor. Alma Roman is not yet shinigami, she is still an apprentice...

"A shinigami? An interject a man, with a disapproving tone. Is she really one of us? »

Silence was in the courtyard. It was true that the brand new shinigamis still had impulses of humanity, hence the importance of its initiation missions: to eliminate all traces of humanity still existing among the apprentices.

But Alma was different: her human soul was still in her. And that was an extremely rare occurrence. But the society of shinigamis did not tolerate differences.

"Your honor. I remind you that other apprentices like her have cracked. This is an incredibly challenging mission. The harvesting of children's souls is always a very delicate mission. And Alma succeeded in her assignment.

"Why didn't she use her Death Psyche, by the way? Insisted one of the judges.

" In order to not to traumatize the child," he replied. “The absorption of souls is a method that was used by our ancestors. »

"It's an archaic method," said one of the edifices dryly. We use reapers to distinguish ourselves from demons, by the way. This girl is not normal... »

"That's not true," the old instructor vehemently replied. Demons devour souls. Alma comforted this soul, without making it suffer. She represents no danger to souls, your honor. Your honor, please, do not judge this apprentice by her diverging nature” …

* * *

Music inspiration: [Two Evils- Silent Hill 4 Limited edition ( Akira Yamaoka)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9noJjrlcGbg)

A soft sigh escaped from her lips as the soothing, soft, splashing of the shower flows over her body.

She had always loved the contact of water on her skin. It was as if it purified her, both her body and her mind. But why? Why this unconscious need to cleanse her mind, her body? It was an unmindful sensation she could not explain, properly.

 _Perhaps it is linked to my past_ , she thought. _My past as a human being._

Her hands moved to her two necklaces.

_Alma._

It had her name. Written inside of the first medallion. Her humane name remained printed in it, the only evidence of her past life.

All shinigamis had been human, before taking their own lives. God had taken their souls and made them Grim Reapers. Although their humanity eventually faded, their memories remained intact.

Except for her. Her soul remained. Her memories not.

As she had delicately opened the medallion, her mind tried again to focus on her past, on anything that could help her to recover her memory. A feeling. A sensation. Unsuccessfully again. No matter how hard she tried, emptiness remained, unanswered questions persisted. Who was she? Why did she forget everything? Why did she kill herself? Why her soul was still in her?

Sometimes, parts of her earlier life appeared as visions in his dreams.

Covered in sweat, her heart pounding unrestrainedly in her chest, she would wake up, her hands would unconsciously squeeze against her chest, searching desperately her medallions. The visions would vanish. Again, and again.

But the fear would remain.

Sometimes, even tears would run up freely, and she could not explain why. Only sadness persisted. As if it was… the grief of losing someone loved.

Alma closed abruptly the first medallion as a frantic urge of calming her senses took her mind.

She could not let emotions took control on her. She could not.

Because of this, her recent mission as an apprentice was almost a failure.

A shinigami cannot show emotions during a mission. Apart from collecting the souls of the dying ones, no empathy, no emotion cannot and should not be shown towards humans, otherwise, dramatic repercussions would happen for both shinigamis and humans.

 _It’s not possible_ , she thought. _I can’t._

She remembered Amaia. The little girl with the skinned knees. The little girl who took care of her brothers, her mother, despite her young age. The one who was going to hide in the forest to avoid the monster that was abusing her.

Her hands clenched as she remembered it.

* * *

_The monster dragged the girl to the ground, in the mud, as she was crying. Defenseless._ _Alma’s muscles tightened, her heart and blood pressure increasing considerably. Her teammate Leon felt her rising anger, hushing her to calm down, despite feeling nauseous too by what they were witnessing._

_Then Amaia uttered a heartbreaking howl._

_In matter of seconds, the female Shinigami almost flew from the tree where she was perched, rushing towards the monster. Leon pinned her down on the ground._

_“Let me go Leon! LET ME GO!”_

_“Enough Alma! ENOUGH!”_

_The shouts_ _alerted the man. The child then bit his_ _hand_ _, escaping from his grip. She ran at full speed, trying to escape from her abuser._ _Still pinned on the ground, Alma managed to see the man starting to run after the girl..._

_Leaning on her feet and tilting her pelvis and hips, she managed to unbalance Leon, quickly tipping him to the side. She took her Death Psyche…_

_The man was stopped by a metallic object, which fell on the wood of the barn, only a few centimeters from his face. Something liquid was flowing down his mouth. Something slimy. His nose had been ripped off._

_A barely perceptible smile appeared on her lips when she heard him screaming, vanishing immediately, when she looked for the child. She was nowhere._

_“Let’s go.”_

_“No. The child…”_

_“Let us go Alma. Now!”_

_Reluctantly, she obeyed. As they came back to the cavern where they were established for the mission, she knew a confrontation with his teammate was imminent…_

_“Do you realize what were you about to do, Alma?_

_“Leon. I…_

_“There are going to be consequences, you know?”_

_“I don’t care.” She replied, a mere whisper. The cries of Amaia still echoed on her mind._

_“Oooh, you don’t care? Fumed Leon._

_“Yes. YES! I don’t care Leon! As she hissed abruptly, facing him directly. I don’t care about these stupid laws!”_

_The furious reply surprised for an instance the male shinigami. Her teammate had never raiser her voice. Ever._

_“Have you seen? Have you seen what he was doing to her, Leon? Do you think it’s fair? Is it fair to watch and do nothing, because of an archaic law?”_

_He did not reply this time. Her angry words awakened in him a still latent part of humanity that still resided in him. But he was no longer human. He was becoming a grim reaper._

_“Alma, he softly replied. We are no longer humans now. We are becoming grim reapers. We cannot intervene into the human’s world, except for retrieving their souls._ _If these laws exist, it’s because it_ _maintains the balance of our world._ _”_

_“I know, But still…” Her whisper almost inaudible, her voice starting to break... “It's unfair. So unfair. She is just a child, Leon.”_

_“I know, he murmured. I know.”_

_Silence remained between them for a moment. This mission was hard. Aware of the vulnerability she displayed, she slowly took a step back, trying to regain her composure. The male shinigami seemed to be aware of it._

_“Let’s collect the other souls. We would take her soul later.”_

_“Leon. I will stay here and take Amaia’s soul. Let me do it.”_

_The sudden determination in her attitude surprised him a little before considering her request._

_“Fine, he sighed, as he got out of the cave. I will meet you at dawn, then.”_

* * *

She finally had left the shower and went to her bed. As she looked at the night sky, her thoughts wandered on her teammate.

Leon.

If it were not of him, she could have been punished. She was grateful of his support. Of his attempt to reason her. He could be a friend. A precious one.

But a part of her just could not accept his words.

She could not erase her humanity. 

She did not want to.

Her hand went to gently touch her chest, where her heart was. She could feel it. Warm and lively. Her soul.

And because of it, many grim reapers distrusted her. No discrepancy was tolerated in the shinigami’s world. And yet, it was her entity. Despite secretly being hurt of their rejection, she would not renounce to her humanity.

Taking the second necklace, observing attentively its details, as she opened it. It was a dark, antiqued, and elegant one. At first glance, the centerpiece seemed to be a vermillion fine polished stone. Except there were diminutive black flames moving in a barely perceptible way. _As it was alive._

A soft smile came to her lips. She could not explain why. But she cherished it. This dark necklace.

As her eyes slowly closed, her thoughts wandered on her last conversation with Leon, before going back to their respective settings: 

_“I am glad for your promotion. Congratulations Leon”._

_“Alma, I…” He hesitated, not sure what words to use._

_He had been promoted. She had not been. Somehow, he felt it was unfair._

_“I wish you would make it next time.”_

_“Thank you.” She replied, blushing a little. “So, what would be your next mission?”_

_“I will be with the team of investigation, soon. We must investigate a case of soul’s disappearances... Most of them were children.”_

_Her smile left instantly._

_“Where?”_

_“In an orphanage called Trinity.”_


	4. The Boy and the Devil

Official Black Butler art. 

The characters belong to [Yana Toboso](https://twitter.com/toboso_official?lang=fr)

Music inspiration: [The Ninth Gate-Opening titles (Wojciech Kilar)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7APF2mUo7bE)

The rain was flowing on that dark December night. In the deserted alleys of the village, a man ran desperately towards the Church.

His eyes wide opened, he drummed the door.

"Open up! Open, please! Yelling, riotously.

The massive wooden door remained closed.

"Please, SAVE ME !!!!"

It opened.

He penetrated inside and closed the door violently, taking refuge inside, looking frantically towards now the closed door, terrified it might open. He waited. And waited. The door stayed closed.

At last. He was safe in the house of God.

All around him, in the aisles, he could clearly see the statues of Saints, despite the darkness. Somehow, deep inside his paranoiac mind, the man had the impression they were watching him. Contemplating his dread in absolute indifference. Of course, they would not help him. Not after what he had done.

How? How this nightmare happened?

“Everyone…Everyone is de…”

_Crack._

He turned around.

The door was closed.

_But then where did that noise come from! Where the hell it came from?_

Another suspected sound happened. This time louder. Running through the church nave, desperately looking for a hiding place, he rushed into a wooden cabinet and locked himself in it.

Not a long time ago, he felt like a man. A powerful one. But right now, he felt like a defenseless child who was hunted by a monster.

_It is not a monster. It came from Hell to punish him._

And he heard them. Footsteps.

_No, no, no… I beg you God. I beg you, please! Help me!_

Then, the sound of footsteps changed. As if it was… metallic. Getting closer. And closer.

“My, my, stated a smooth, well-mannered masculine voice, full of sarcasm. Look where you are hiding? In a confessional?”

His teeth slammed, his body shuddered, uncontrollably as he heard it. Judging from the proximity of the voice, he could tell _it_ was close to him. Only the thin wooden plank gave him the illusion it could protected him. It was not humane. A human cannot kill well trained bodyguards, in a matter of seconds. A human cannot rip apart bodies, crunching their bones to the ground, their organs dismembered. A human cannot have crimson eyes glowing in the dark. That could only mean one explanation. And that is why he ran to the Church.

But maybe, maybe God would protect him, at the end? Wasn’t God supposed to love him unconditionally?

A deep-low chuckle occurred immediately, as it could read his mind. 

“Goodness, Lord Rickfall. Do you honestly think you would be forgiven after what you have done? Besides…”

Sounds of fingertips could be heard against the slim wooden plank.

“God is not here.”

The tears would run out now freely. Courage honor it did not matter anymore. Now only the echoes of his sobs could be heard inside the voting booth.

He startled. The next door from the confessional opened. Someone was settling right next to him, taking the place where the priest would normally sit, while listening to the ones who wanted to confess.

“Lord Rickfall.”

This voice.

“I want you to tell me the sins you made.”

Lord Rickfall raised his face and faced the person that was standing right near him. Through the wooden grate, one could barely discern the person's face. But the crystalline tone did not deceive. It was the voice of a boy. Yet confident. Toneless. Solemn.

“Si…Sins?”

“Jane Bingley. Emma Steele. Catherine Tilney. Annie Morland. Ida Thorpe.”

He continued the list of names, insisting on every first name, every name...

“John Brandon. Alice Sweeney. Arthur Fairfax…Those are the names of the children you killed, Lord Rickfall.”

The sound of rain seemed to intensify, outside the Church.

“Do you have something to say about it? Uttered the boy. Anything that could _justify_ these acts?”

The man next to him was still weeping, his face between his hands.

“They…”, he whispered, tormented

“They were beautiful.”

His jaws contracted; his hand did the same with his cane. Immediately, memories of _those days_ arose from his unconscious. Clear, vicious, and unbearable images. Yet, somehow, his resilient spirit pushed away those memories back. He had a job to do. He had to be worthy of it, no matter the traumas he endured.

The sentence was pronounced, irrevocable. 

“Noo! Please! Lord Phantomhive, I… I am protected by the Qu…

“Your sins made our Queen puke, snarled viciously the Watchdog. Lord Rickfall. You acted like a beast with these children”.

The rain was pounding down freely, as if it was announcing the imminent carnage.

“Now let _my Beast_ treat you as you deserve it”.

Frantically, the man begged him to spare him, desperately crying against the wooden mesh. But the boy was gone. And he saw a smile slowly coming towards him, through the fence. Then it twisted into a disturbing rictus with fangs, as those piercing, crimson eyes starred at him…

* * *

The rain was still falling steadily on the grounds, flowing on the roofs of houses, mixing with earth and grass. It is said that rain could wash everything.

However, it could not clean what happened inside the church. Before leaving, the boy ordered to his servant to clean all the mess he made, to let not evidence of what happened earlier, indifferent to the strikes of terror.

Ciel was a hardened individual, despite his age, because of the tragic events he endured. He had wanted to stay. To see the sick, disturbed human being punished and killed. But his butler will not allow him. It was against his aesthetics as an impeccable servant, had he said. How ironic of him. The boy had seen him tearing apart the cultists who tortured him and his beloved twin brother, this fateful day.

Yet, he said nothing as he left the Church, waiting patiently against the wooden door. From the strikes of terror that could be perceived, he could tell Sebastian was doing his job, _extremely well_. He was a beast after all. His beast.

Finally, he came out, a slight smile adorned on his lips, as if nothing of what he had done before had ever happened.

“It’s done, my Lord.”

In response, a neutral glance, as always. “Did you clean everything?”

“Yes, my Lord.” answered solemnly Sebastian.

“Good. Let’s go.”

As they were walking in the streets of the village, the demon took a time to observe his prey, the one he made a pact with. Head up, a determined gaze as he walked in the shadowy road, unafraid.

A smirk began to form on the demon’s lips. It seemed it was no longer ago that the Affair of the Circus had been resolved. At that time, the boy had almost collapsed when they discovered the sick, twisted true behind the children’s disappearances. However, in this case, his master managed to remain cool and collected, even though the horrendous discoveries they made about lord Rickfall.

Yes. His master had matured so well. And he was still growing up. As well as his delectable, strong soul.

* * *

The winter mist enveloped the huge manor house as dawn led to the horizon. Gently removing the black tea leaves from the box, Sebastian was already working on his daily morning duties, preparing his master's breakfast and lunch, as everyone was still sleeping.

He did not need to sleep, unlike humans.

Moreover, he could not afford to rest. His master's life was constantly threatened since of his position as the Queen’s bloodhound. But one had to be totally unconscious to go after Ciel Phamtomhive. And yet, some fools dared to. And paid for it with their lives.

His true nature remained. Behind the pulchritudinous appearance of an impeccable servant, hides a lethal and cunning predator.

Lord Rickfall and his bodyguards had seen it, days ago.

The pure look of terror on their faces, the tantalizing aroma of fear emanating from their pores that only a demon could sniff out was enough to excite him. With a wicked lick of his lips, he smirked, crushing the furcula’s pheasant under his fingers, as he continued to prepare the meal…

His sharp ears perceived the sound of the cart. Even before they knocked on the door, Sebastian knew that the Queen was sending her faithful butlers for a new mission...

Hours later, seated in front of his office, the young Earl meticulously filled out administrative papers. When he was not in secret missions for the Queen, Ciel the boy was taking care of his lands as well as his company Funtom Corportation. Secretly, he was eagerly awaiting the hot chocolate with cream that his faithful butler was concocting, as well as a delicious cake.

Speaking of the Devil, a gentle but steady knock could be heard against the massive door.

“Come in”.

Ciel’s eyes remained impassive as his butler entered in the room, a polite, well-adorned smile was on his lips.

“Good afternoon my Lord. May I offer you a cup of chocolate with some sponge cake I made, for a special occasion?”

The boy raised an eyebrow before understanding the meaning of his servant's words. Then he saw the letter in his hand. Yes, of course. The damn demon loved playing with words.

A royal letter.

A new mission.

“ _My dear boy,_

_I hope you are doing well. The last mission I send it to you was extremely hard._ _I never imagined that human beings could be capable of such barbarity. No child should have suffered like these poor little creatures. Thanks to you, their souls now rest in peace and this man will no longer be able to do any harm to beings who deserve our protection. I regret to ask, but, my dear boy, in recent weeks, strange facts have happened: nobles have vanished, mainly in the Yorkshire region. Some have been found, wandering, and have lost their mind. Scotland yard, the alienists, no one can understand the reason for their madness. Orphaned children have also disappeared. My dear boy, I fear something dark is happening in these areas. Investigate in complete secrecy, so as not to alter our society. I am counting on you. "Victoria."_

A shiver subconsciously ran through his backbone as he read the letter carefully. Ciel hated this sensation. Because he could not understand rationally why his body reacted that way. Ignoring it, he looked back at his butler, handing him the letter.

“What do you think it is, this time?”

Sebastian did not reply immediately, as he read scrupulously, looking already for any possible clue.

Ciel starred at his butler’s serious expression, trying to read his mind, as he tried, many, many times before, perhaps as an instinct of survival.

Then something in the demon’s amber eyes slightly changed.

“So?” Insisted the boy.

“I am not sure.” As he raised his head, starring back at his master. Intensely. “I have to begin the investigations before giving you my opinion."

"Start now. When you have more concrete information, let me know. »

« Yes, my Lord. » The butler bowed, as usual. No sooner did the Earl turned to the huge window than Sebastian disappeared. But Ciel was used to it. 

The demon saw something in the letter. Something caught his interest. And yet, he said nothing to him. It was not in his habits to be reserved, for the butler did not fail to share his hypotheses, taking immense pride to show his great spirit of deduction.

Then why was he restraining himself?

In the distance, clouds were gathering, a rain looming on the verge of breaking. The atmosphere seemed heavy, oppressive, while the rays of light gradually disappeared...

His eyes widened.

A ball formed in his stomach.

The Yorkshire.

It was there. Where the dark cathedral had stay before. Where he and his brother had been... 


End file.
